Uninspired: our week

In the "Big Girl Chair" for a rare moment

Art Attack

My Little Princess

"Hmmm how much mess can I make...?"

Wherever next?!

A Day of Two Halves

If ever there was a day of getting out on the wrong side of bed, today was it. I only have one side of bed, but obviously today it was Wrong. 


I had a rare lie-in until 08:20 (thanks Wriggles!) but awoke in grouch-mode and it got worse and worse. I intended to get ready early and go out before 10 to take Wriggles to soft play before lunch in the hope of tiring her out a bit so she might re-take up napping in the daytime and thus start sleeping a bit more normally at night times. Partly due to the rain and mostly due to my ineptitude, we weren't both ready until gone 11. Wriggles was driving me up the wall, only content to throw everything off my bookshelf constantly ad shriek at me if I dared correct her from reading books upside down (not a deliberate attempt to spoil fun: she can and has for months read them the 'right' way and now her upside-down-and-back-to-front method is very rough, breaks the spine of all the books and thus makes the pages likely to fall out. She has developed superhuman strength and can easily destroy a board book) or suggest that she could do something, anything, other than book flinging either with or without me. I discovered I had missed a series of payments on things so had to do some organising and grovelling which is never nice, and finally wrapped up a parcel to post to a dear friend who is having a baby shower this weekend, which I cannot afford to go to (WHY do airlines charge practically an adult fare for infants who will after all, only be sat on your lap with no luggage?). There wasn't a proper reason for getting cross, especially with Wriggles who after all was only being a toddler, but I found myself getting increasingly wound up and stressed with everything. The washing up pile haunted me, reminding me that I was rubbish at doing things when I knew I should and I felt tired and a bit overwhelmed by just life.

By the time we left, it was pouring down but I could not stand to stay inside. I know from prior experience, being couped up with a full of beans Wriggles in destroy mode is not a recipe for a happy day. We had a nice hour where we go some jobs done, called in on our recently retired childminder who was delighted to see the Wriggly one and had some lunch . Then the trouble brewed again as I tried to persuade the baggy-eyed and yawning child to have a nap. Just five minutes (or preferably twenty if you're asking). She looked sleepy. She has until very recently, had a hour or longer nap after lunch to recharge her batteries. This has suddenly turned into a battle meaning by 5pm she is a whining and exhausted child and bedtime is frankly a miracle when it eventually occurs. We walked around the park. We walked around the park again. We had some top-up milk. We walked around the park some more. In the rain. An hour later, with a very frayed temper I gave up. 

It is very rare I am grumpy with Wriggles or tell her off seriously. I do employ "No!" at appropriate moments ("NO Wriggles do not turn the TV on or off/grab plug sockets/climb onto the toilet/throw your dinner on the floor") but partly I've never really had cause to tell her off and partly I'm terrible at it as I instantly feel terrible. I'm not talking about dodging discipline, but shouting for the sake of a bad or frazzled mood over something that doesn't warrant that level of reprimand. I know it was wrong to snap at her, but snap I did. What with working and managing everything on my own from baby things to finances to the sodding washing up (where, where does it come from!) when it gets to the end of the week, a hard week of sleep regression, a frustrating previous day at work, then to be honest I need Wriggles' nap as much as she does. Just to get fifteen minutes or so to me. Just to sit down without guilt and breathe a sigh of relief. Just to know that the whining will almost-probably be cut out later. Just to have a cup of coffee that is still hot. Just to stop being two parents rolled into one with eyes in the back of my head and enough patience to shame a saint, for a tiny tiny fraction of time. I was cross and I told her off. I'm not proud of it. At all. But it was that or burst into tears. Needless to say, it did nothing. With defeat and now over an hour lost, I gave up and chalked it up to my list of failings and headed into soft play. As I paid the entrance fee, I knew full well that she wouldn't last the two hours it gives you but by now we both needed somewhere neutral and shrieking friendly.


And actually it did the trick. I chilled out and relaxed especially as Wriggles clambered over me. Seeing her cackling away to herself trying to climb the wrong way up the slide reminded me why I love her completely. I helped her perfect her clambering skill, which I suspect I may regret. It was rather hot in there, and as time passed Wriggles began to concern me slightly. She was getting very sweaty and clammy; I removed her t-shirt and clipped her face back. She was still very hot. In horror, I watched a bright rash spread across her arms and chest. It was very red and very spotty. Whether fever or heat rash it was hard to tell. Gradually it faded as I tried to cool her down and my bed time it is as if it had never been there. It is horrible moment though when your heart leaps into your mouth and panic is suddenly everywhere! We came home without even and had a cuddle that put the world, or at least mine, to right.


This week has been a little ray of bliss in terms of Wriggles' feeding. We have tried:

• Mummy's sandwich
• Mummy's cake
• Strips of pitta bread
• Wafers
• A bit of buttered roll 
• A vegetarian sausage 

...which have all gone down relatively well. I'm not talking huge amounts, but just tasting and Wriggles voluntarily putting them in her mouth is such an enormous step. I decided to bite the home cooking bullet today and make some sweet potato chips. To my amazement, as I deposited some on the highchair, Wriggles abandoned the strips of toast she was dribbling on and took one. And put it in her mouth. This was a beautiful moment; it was the first thing I have made she has touched*. Obviously I am delighted she now will try toast and sausages, but was giving up hope of ever being able to nourish her myself! Alright, I know it was just a bit of essentially fried potato. I imagine I could have possibly obtained some from the frozen aisle as the supermarket. But I cooked it. 

It dawned on me that I am enjoying food times with Wriggles. For the last 14 months I have been very much trying to enjoy food times zen to a fine art, but enjoy it? No way. Would you enjoy your offerings refused for months and months? Every day, several times a day no matter what you do with it? Would you enjoy seeing your child make herself sick with distress because she caught sight of a spoon....no not her spoon, your spoon you intend to eat your yoghurt with? Would you enjoy finally revelling in her trust that fromage frais is actually yummy only to see her stomach contents cover the entire kitchen because of one little gag? No, thought not. Live with, yes. Accept, yes. Chill out about, very almost yes. Enjoy? No. But now, now Wriggles is trusting food enough to at least make sensory discovery and her own mind up and at best actually use her oral skills and digest it, now there is variety and her enthusiasm matches my own, now it is fun. Now if she just put on a little bit of weight so I couldn't play the xylophone on her ribs...!

Getting a bit cocky with the "climbing" malarky...

Vegetable Glue

I cannot really speak for meal times and fussy eaters, as our path with weaning and consequently feeding has strayed from the norm and into an area regulated and plotted by medical professionals. However, I do remember growing up with my sister who was a supremely fussy eater (she accused me of being a traitor when she saw me eating broccoli. She was at least 14 at the time...) and I suspect that my little baby is fast becoming a contrary toddler so I thought I had better brush up on some literature to arm myself with knowledge for the next stage of development. One book I discovered whilst working at Seven Stories, the centre for Children's Books and remembered fondly ever since was Vegetable Glue by Susan Chandler and illustrated by Elena Odriozola. It always raised a giggle from children and story times and an understanding eye roll from many parents around the room.

Vegetable Glue is a cautionary tale from a little girl who only eats cake. The problem with this is that vegetable glue keeps all your body parts stuck on* and makes sure they do not fall off. Should your head accidentally take a tumble, you would need to flag down a wise granny (or possibly greengrocer) and beg for some magical glue to repair the damage.What's that; you've never seen someones arm spontaneously fall off in the playground? Ahhh, well they must have all eaten up their greens then to keep their arms and legs stuck firmly to their bodies. You don't need to guzzle down your body weight in peas and carrots to create vegetable glue, a few bits from your plate will suffice (if you are unsure, ask your mum or dad. They generally seem quite knowledgeable in the vegetable consumption arena). And I don't know about you, but if I knew my head was likely to fall off in the middle of going down the slide then I think I would stay indoors too. Terribly embarrassing, this body falling apart business.

"You can see for yourself,

That something's not right,

People don't fall apart.

It's just not polite.

I have to keep with me,

A big tub of glue,

To stick bits back on,

To make good as new."

So how then, do we avoid this? Luckily, the answer is here and written beautifully in rhyme. The text is large for new or budding readers (or tired parents) and accompanied by gorgeous watercolour illustrations on every page.

"It's not in the shops and it's not on the telly, beacuse vegetable glue is in everyone's belly!

But I was quite silly and made a mistake.

I wouldn't eat cabbage, or turnips or beans; I didn't like carrots, I didn't like greens.

I didn't eat sprouts and now I've no special glue. No goodness inside me, like other kids do.

While others are playing, I can't even cough. If I sneeze or I burp then something falls off."

By this point, I was already sold on the book when I first read it. It's marvellously silly as well as being full of subliminal common sense, but just in case your child might not be convinced, there is an almost obligatory rude picture for all the back row to collapse in giggles....

Although she is too young to sit through the whole story or understand fully the content, Wriggles is more than happy to flick through the pictures and was amused by the rhyming text. It also lends itself to silly noises and learning body parts if you feel like being very involved and interactive.

I don't know about you, but I will be having mainly vegetables for tea tonight. With a side helping of more vegetables. You can't be too careful....

*not scientifically proven but backed up by 99% of desperate parents especially at dinner times

Tears

6:18pm

It's teatime and there are tears. 

This isn't unusual. Wriggles' aversion to feeding has often distressed her to the point of tears in the past. I have long learnt that if this reaction is even hinted at, to chalk it up to experience and leave it for another go later. Somethings are just not worth it if that are that bad.

What is unusual is that today the tears are from me: I am crying.

But not from frustration.

Wriggles has just put a vegetable finger to her mouth.

No wait, she has put it in her mouth.

And...

I hold my breath, almost too hesitant to get my hopes up.

...bitten, chewed and swallowed! 

Tentatively, over about an half an hour, she returned again and again to nibble away at the vegetable finger. What was even more incredible than this* was the fact that when she couldn't cope with a texture, like a whole piece of sweetcorn, rather than gag and vomit like she has always done, she moved it around her mouth until she could spit it out. I was amazed at this sudden leap in process than I have been waiting for for what is now over a year. To actually willingly handle food, put it to her face, try some, repeatedly try it and use her oral motor skills to break it down... it is so simple and what we take for granted, but it is such PROGRESS and even thinking about it now brings a lump of pride to my throat. 

The past year has been a rollercoaster and has taught me a lot in patience and acceptance and I must admit, there were times like in recurrent weeks whereby she would not even go near food, where I fear it would never happen and we would succumb to tube feeding. I have a small section of baby and children books on my bookshelf that have taunted me with their weaning guides and food ideas. Before Wriggles came home and long before weaning, I devoured them soaking up ideas and formulating my own plans. I talked to the neonatal nurses about weaning premature babies and read the Bliss literature. I couldn't wait and had a box of food items and accessories before she even reached term. I did not forsee  a fraught period whereby she wouldn't even entertain being near food or touch cutlery; I didn't know the work that would be to break down her fear or distate for the sensory textures. Slowly, we have introduced milestone after milestone and now, a taste and management of "real food" is the icing on a cake. I'm not expecting miracles; it might not even be the beginning of the end of this time, but I am so pleased for her.

 I am so proud of my clever baby girl.

"What's all the fuss?"

*if you have never read anything here before, Wriggles has struggled with oral aversion and building up trust never mind a variety has been a very long slow process. In over a year, we are now at an albeit limited, "stage two" of the weaning process!

My Little Princess

I don't think Wriggles is particularly patriotic. She consented to wearing a red-white-and-blue dress (it was one of the only clean items of clothing) but this photograph captured the split second before she threw her crown, lovingly hastily cut out from cardboard and stapled, on the ground and promptly sat on it.

I am not normally very patriotic or royalist. Normally I am a bit on the cynical Scrooge glass-half-empty side of the table, but since having Wriggles I have lightened my mood and taken pleasure in the small things. One of which, is people being nice to each other. Actually, maybe that is not a small thing. There are some very depressing things out there and some very aggressive events, so when a community or group of relative strangers get together for the day and bake cakes free of charge and swap stories, it is really rather magical and refreshing. It might all sound a bit twee, but having gone to a street party this weekend I am fully signed up to the Nice People club.

My parents and grandparents have long lamented the loss of community, and despite growing up in a relatively small, quiet and pleasant village, I can't say I have many memories or much notion of community. I am ashamed to say, I don't know the names of one set of my neighbours and can count the number of conversations had with with on one hand. Community seems rather lost in today, at least where I live in a city suburb. So it was a wonderful surprise to see a street filled with people making merry, with all ages represented and even sulky teenagers looking marginally less sulky for the day. Families, singletons, friends, strangers...there were all there and all sharing together. 

Now that is something to remember.

22/52 Spot the Culprit

Watch out Picasso

Highchair

A year ago we got our highchair. Like much else about Wriggles, prematurely! She was being weaned (if you can call it that, not actually eating any solid food) but even with the insert, was very small and her chin was practically resting on the table. She also couldn't sit up by herself and wouldn't for around 6 months more. The only reason I bought it then was that it was reduced at the time and my parents were up visiting to help carry it back from the shop. We duly placed Wriggles in it for a photo opportunity and after that, it stayed rather unused taking up a corner of the kitchen for months to come. She wasn't very impressed at all and it seldom got used as anything further than somewhere for dumping things organising post.

Wriggles was still being (attempted) fed in the bouncy chair and Bumbo, which I cannot praise enough. We were kindly loaned it by the physiotherapy team to help Wriggles' core muscles, but it really came into it's own for so much more. She seemed frightened of the highchair for a very long time, but trusted the Bumbo which she was always more than happy to sit in. I think it made her feel more independent and like she could achieve more. It also freed up her hands rather than trying to balance on the floor trying to support her weight sitting. I did try to use the highchair briefly, not for food but to play in. Partly it was useful if I needed to have both hands free for a short period, and partly I wanted her to relax in it and learn to trust it. She was so swamped in it, there were often about three separate rolled up towels supporting her as well as a booster insert. Slowly, she began to hate it a bit less and discovered the fantastic game of "chuck it over the sides/Mummy pick it up". She was definitely at least one before it got used even semi-regularly for meal times, as other times she was far happier sat in the Bumbo or on my lap. Given that meal times were not her favourite bit of the day, the last thing I wanted to do was make her more fraught by the choice of seat.  


Although progress isn't fast, Wriggles really is making strides with feeding and also accepting more textures and touch. The highchair has now come into it's own, especially as the Bumbo is no longer safe now she is mobile, and the tray is ideal for presenting a buffet of leftovers and finger foods, and if she wants to really get involved and explore the food, then it is wipe-clean (as is she!). Now, we have lunch and dinner in the highchair and she happily will pick through a selection of things like cheese biscuits and Cheerios as well as being spoon-fed. It also makes a good hiding place, standing aide and toy basket when not in use. She still is rather swamped by it...

Happy birthday, highchair.

All in the Mind

The human mind is incredible.

 

It is such a sophisticated thing and the most sophisticated thing is, you can't even see it. You can see the brain yes, and really clever people with whizzy machines might be able to see cells and neurons but what does our mind, our thoughts, our intellect and personality look like? Does it look different if we are ill or sad?

Mostly, the mind is incredibly clever and benevolent.

Sometimes it is also incredibly cruel.

You only have to turn on the news to see what human thinking and consequently actions cause sometimes. It might be one person or a collective. It might be one spark or a long thought out plan. And less newsworthy, people out there every day struggle with mental health when their mind is not 100% their own. It might be fleeting; it might be lifelong.

After my recent wobble, I have been feeling so much better for having some time off work with Wriggles. It really helped me reaffirm myself as Alpha Mama (alright, then: a mama at least) and in that month, I did more mum-friendly and social things than I had in over a year. I returned to work as I knew then that redundancy was imminent in around 6 weeks and figured that I could do that, knowing there was an end. I hadn't given up the idea of continuing working if something else came up and I could find appropriate childcare and I was getting maybe a little cocky thinking I had put the worst behind me. Largely, I think the "worst" is behind, just the tough bit that is easy to forget is that there is no magic moment when your feelings go away in a puff of smoke. Nothing has to happen for them to creep back out again from where they have been lurking, but sometimes they sneak up unexpected and uninvited as if to remind you who was once boss.

I had a silly hour or so today. It wasn't quite a panic attack, but was unsettling to say the least. I had a rare few hours apart from Wriggles; we had a lovely lunch together (eaten: one fromage frais, a dollop of banana & custard, several rice cakes, the corner of my panini and some multigrain hoop-type-snacks) and I dropped her off at the creche. She barely looked up, having befriended one of the staff instantly. I kissed her, once, twice, needily three times and still she didn't flinch. Off I slunk, with my tail between my legs and my metaphorical ears wilting.

She doesn't love you.

The thought hovered in my head. I furiously brushed it aside.

She doesn't care.

She's just independent. And sociable and friendly and a toddler for chrissakes. They all go through mad phases.

You keep telling yourself that. How do you even know she realises you're her mother?

All babies know their mothers. She would have known my voice, my smell. She settled with me and fell asleep in my arms.

She was born early not long after developing those senses and lived in a plastic box for two months.

That didn't stop me loving her and telling her I loved her. And once she came out and came home, I didn't stop holding her and being as mothering as I could.

I'm not talking about what you feel. She wouldn't care if you walked away now. If you went and never came back. She'd be fine. She'd still smile and giggle and laugh. How do you know she would miss you?

How do you know?

Would she?

I wish sometimes there was an off-button to silence minds.

As anxiety and growing hysteria with a growing conviction I was unwanted swept over me, I could feel myself getting light headed and shaky. Walking past a window confirmed I was as white as sheet and looked peaky to say the least. I honestly thought I was going to collapse with the intensity and was terrified that after all the good work of being able to separate mad brain from normal brain that I was falling back fast into a barren and bleak pit of despair whereby I couldn't control my grasp of my little world.  

Thankfully, my more conscious and rational self came back not long after it had left and banished any such thoughts, focussing firmly on what was happening right that second (wandering round IKEA, a task impossible with a small noisebag) and the knowledge that soon I was going to be back with Wriggles and she would be happy with that.

And indeed, she was. I picked her and smothered her with kisses and she happily held my finger on the metro home. We "fed" her toy cat rice cakes on the way back and she squwarked with mirth. I was once more myself and let out a sigh of relief and contentment. Now, surrounded by my things with my daughter sleeping softly in the next room, I know all is well. 

A blip. 

A silly blip. 

Philosophically, you could debate the notion of love, relationships, parenting, nature and nurture but I know one thing: I have a very happy little girl and happy little girls do not stay happy without love. Little girls who do not care are not full of smiles and contentment. They do not blow kisses or offer to share dribbled-on breadstick. They might scream and try to climb in the bin and ignore all authorative "No"s and happily climb on anyone's lap, but that does not mean indifference or dislike.

I've got so many happy memories with her, and I hope she has too. I know memory is far less sophisticated in the very young, but I hope somewhere in there, there are recollections of moments prized. I'm not, in them by default as the only parent there day in, day out I hope but because I have earned my place and my reward of my daughter's affection as I have loved her to the ends of my ability and further every day, and done the best I possibly can by her. I may not be perfect, but I will bloody well try to be for her sake. (Allowing bin-and-toilet-climbing excluded of course. That will stay not permitted, however many tears it produces).